ANNE ASHLEY - Miss In A Man's World

‘And by your peevish tone, Trent, I would suggest he has succeeded in his objective remarkably well,’ Lord Rupert Gyles put in, shoulders shaking in quiet amusement. ‘But what on earth possessed you to drag him with you to this place, Finch? There are persons enough to fetch wine should you require it, surely?’

This was true enough. Although the owner of the discreet establishment did employ several females to entice customers to part with their money at the various gaming tables, besides encouraging them to drink their fill from his well-stocked cellar, he did attempt to run a respectable house. His lordship wasn’t so na?ve as to suppose more intimate relationships did not take place between certain regular patrons and the immodestly attired young women, but the liaisons were never conducted openly.

All the same, he did wonder what Georgie made of the various young women clad in low-cut diaphanous gowns, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He took his eyes off the cards in his hand in order to glance up at her, only to discover her surprisingly enough staring so fixedly at Lord Chard that it was almost as if she were attempting to etch each and every line of his harsh-featured face into her memory.

Her regard, as she well knew, went far beyond what was pleasing. More disturbing, still, was the possible reaction of Chard himself should he happen to realise he was receiving such close scrutiny. He was no fool. He might so easily pierce her disguise if she gained his full attention for any length of time. This hadn’t occurred thus far. Apart from that first cursory glance, Chard had betrayed no interest in the page whatsoever.

Lord Fincham decided it would be best if it remained that way.

‘Fetch me a bottle and a glass, Georgie,’ he said, after gaining her attention by raising a finger, ‘and then go downstairs and await me in the vestibule.’

It was quite some time later before his lordship, sated with gaming, went in search of her. He found her easily enough in the vestibule where he had sent her, but not asleep, as expected, in one of the comfortable chairs. Surprisingly wide-eyed and alert, she was in deep conversation with one of the young flunkies engaged to man the front entrance, and deny admittance to any undesirables.

As he led the way out into the early morning air, his lordship heard a distant church clock chime the hour, and experienced yet another of those increasingly regular pangs of conscience where the being beside him was concerned. There wasn’t a hackney carriage to be seen, so there was nothing for it but to walk at least part of the way home.

‘You should have been in bed hours ago, Georgie. It was extremely remiss of me to drag you out tonight, most especially to that establishment,’ he announced as they set off down the street, heading for the more affluent part of town.

‘Oh, but I enjoyed it, my lord. For me it was an adventure. I’ve never been to such a place before.’

He couldn’t help smiling at this. ‘No, I don’t suppose for a moment you have. None the less, I shouldn’t have taken you there.’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘What did you make of it, I wonder?’

She shrugged, appearing remarkably unconcerned. ‘The females are little more than painted doxies, engaged to persuade gentlemen to part with their blunt, I shouldn’t wonder. The doormen were characters, though, rather rough and ready, and certainly not to be trusted. But the one you saw me conversing with was rather interesting. His name’s George, as it happens. He seems to know everyone. Addressed all the visitors by name. And knew a deal about them, too.’

Discovering this did precious little to ease his conscience. He couldn’t help wondering what sordid facts she’d discovered about his fellow gamesters, not to mention himself! ‘Dare I ask what he disclosed about me?’

‘Nothing that I hadn’t discovered for myself already.’ She cast him one of those wickedly provocative smiles that he was finding increasingly endearing. ‘Said you were a downy one, awake on every suit.’

The instant he learned this, his lordship felt it might almost have been a prophecy. He heard a church clock chime the quarter, and detected something else, too—footsteps behind, closing fast. Crossing the street, he glanced over his shoulder and saw two persons lurking in the shadows, and a possible third on the other side of the road.

‘Georgie, perchance, have you any money about your person?’

‘Yes, my lord, a few coins.’

‘Enough to hire a carriage?’

‘I should imagine so.’ The look he received was unmistakably one of surprise. ‘Why, you didn’t lose all your money, did you, at the gaming tables?’

Concerned though he was, he couldn’t resist smiling at this. ‘What an alarming thought! But, no, child, my reputation remains untarnished, at least where indulging in games of chance is concerned.’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Now, listen carefully. A little way ahead is a side alley. When we reach it I want you to run down there and stop for nothing and nobody until you come to the wider thoroughfare at the far end. With luck you should locate a hackney carriage without too much difficulty. Return to Berkeley Square and await me there. No questions, Georgie!’ he added, when she opened her mouth to speak, and then quite literally thrust her on her way as they reached the alley.

Almost immediately afterwards he detected the sound of heavy running footsteps and swung round. Whipping aside his cloak, he revealed a sturdy silver-handled walking stick, which he wielded to great effect, rendering the first assailant unconscious with a well-aimed blow to the temple. Unfortunately the footpad’s two accomplices bore down upon him simultaneously, one successfully knocking the trusty weapon from his hand, while the other grasped him from behind, holding fast his arms. The second blow directed at his solar plexus had him momentarily gasping for breath. He then attempted to brace himself for the next onslaught. One moment the burly individual standing in front of him was balling his huge boulder of a fist; the next he was, amazingly enough, toppling to the ground, like some sturdy felled oak.

Out of the corner of his eye, his lordship glimpsed his gallant rescuer, silver-handled walking stick still clasped in one slender hand, and cursed under his breath, while successfully freeing himself from the third assailant’s grasp. Drawing back his arm, he accidentally made contact with a high cheekbone with his elbow. An indignant squeal quickly followed before his lordship floored the last of the would-be robbers with a powerful blow to the jaw.

With one sweep of his arm, the Viscount grasped a slender wrist and assisted Georgie to her feet, not knowing whether to feel angry or grateful. ‘Are you badly hurt, child?’ he demanded, attempting to study her in the gloom.

‘I do not think so, my lord, just slightly bruised.’

‘In that case, remind me to beat you when we get home for disobeying my orders!’

He received a gurgle of mirth in response.

In view of the fact that he and Georgie had reached their respective bedchambers only just after dawn had broken, the Viscount had left strict instructions that his page was not to be disturbed until he had had sufficient sleep. He himself was denied that pleasure by the arrival the following morning of an unexpected visitor. Ordinarily none of the servants would have entered his bedchamber until he rang for attendance. Brindle, however, was well aware that this particular caller was always welcome, no matter the time of day, and so had no hesitation in making the visitor’s arrival known.

All the same, it was almost an hour later before his lordship made his way down to the breakfast parlour in order to greet his very welcome guest. He was almost sure what had prompted the visit, and so didn’t waste time on needless pleasantries. ‘Would it be presumptuous of me to offer my heartiest congratulations?’